Cycles of Destruction
by HiddenMaster
Summary: The world of Dark Souls has been trapped in a never ending cycle of light and dark for eons, orchestrated by beings of unimaginable power for god knows what, the only certainty in the world that what little hope and happiness its inhabitants can find is fleeting and doomed to struggle to a bitter and tragic end. It's high time someone smashed the petty cycle to bits, isn't it?
1. Prologue

Dark Souls is owned and produced by From Software.

Demon souls is owned and produced by From Software with assistance from SCE Japan Studio

No permission has been obtained from any of the copyright holders for the use of the characters and situations from these series. This work of fiction is not for profit and not intended to infringe on copyrighted intellectual property in any significant or harmful way.

Should they, or any of their affiliates, request it this non-profit story will be taken off line as quickly as possible.

Any original characters, however, are owned by me and me alone. Should I find out someone has stolen my characters, I will find them and launch them out of a cannon and into the sun. Or beat them to death with a napkin, whichever mood I am in. If you want to use the characters, just ask. I'll probably say yes.

Feedback is encouraged. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows.

Anyway, let's get on with the story, shall we?

* * *

**Breaking the Cycle**

**Prologue**

**or**

**Meetings of Ominous Vagueness**

* * *

Space and time flowed and ebbed in an eternal hypnotic rhythm spanning the entirety of the fabric of existence. Hundreds of millions of iridescent universes, each a brilliant glowing chain in an otherwise empty void, branched off from the Origin, twisting and spiraling through all of reality. Some would occasionally intersect to form new worlds of possibilities while others would diverge and split off into countless subsidiaries, both varieties filled with unlimited potential bounty for their very foundations of existence. Throughout these infinite realities, myriad threads of light and dark intertwined and wrapped around the dimensions, fighting for supremacy and control at every turn in an unimaginable display of power. From this conflict, countless worlds were born; some destined to become visions of heaven, others of hell, while still more became something in-between, yet each and every one utterly unique. Creations was, in a word, beautiful.

Sometimes, "life" as a Monumental, a being that literally held together the very fabric of reality for an entire world, was almost worth it.

Almost.

For all of their power and gift of foresight into other worlds, they were still utterly blind in their own. The chain of Fate that bound their dimension to the rest of creation and lent them their powers also blocked their visions of their own futures to all but the faintest of glimpses… such as what was going to happen in the next few seconds.

Suddenly, he, along with every other Monumental in the Nexus fell over, screaming, as untold images and sounds flashed through his consciousness. Had he been a lesser being, the sheer volume and content of the information assaulting his mind would have utterly destroyed and liquefied his brain. Three weeks later, the screaming stopped and the youngest Monumental opened his eyes to the physical world around him for the first time in a hundred years.

He glanced to his right and left, noting as every other monumental left in the world do the same, although it wasn't really necessary. His senses extended far beyond the physical, and he could easily have known everything about the meditation chamber they were in down to the molecular composition of the perfectly symmetrical diamond pattern marble floor.

His oldest friend drew his attention as he stepped forward and out of his resting matt in a small ornate meditation cell inbuilt into the chamber wall. They had existed since near the very beginning of their world and had lived for untold millennia, watching as their world inevitably moved forward with ever increasing change during the passing eons. Even though they were no longer truly human, he still valued the Monunmental's friendship and wisdom, although emotions he had once known that hid in meaning behind the words were almost entirely foreign now.

"The chain has been broken." There was no need to explain any further. The other Monumentals patiently waited and willed him to continue. They all knew what had happened and what needed to be done, but they still respected the faint social necessities learned in a long forgotten age. Besides, of all the remaining Monumentals, they were the only two who remained somewhat talkative throughout the passing eons.

"There is not further doubt. We have passed a critical threshold in our path, and have been judged." He paused for a moment, letting it pointlessly sink in. "We failed." His friend's face was blank, but he spoke with great shame.

"Is there anything that can be done?" He already knew the answer, but devoutly wished he was wrong.

"No. The past and futures are now locked to us, and any effort to directly change that would be beyond pointless. We must face a simple fact: we made our choices, and they were wrong. What is to come will come whether we want it to or not.

He sighed. It was the first true sign of emotion he had shown in a very long time. "That only leaves one option open to us, does it not?" Three weeks earlier, they would not have even considered it because the mere possibility of its existence was hidden from view, and, had they even known, would have been considered utterly ridiculous but now they simply knew it was only remaining option to fix their mistakes.

"Yes."

"Do you think she can do it?"

"I don't know. That possibility is closed to us by her very nature. We can only offer her a chance to alter the path.

He mused for a moment, contemplating other possibilities. "What of her family?"

"They are unsuitable in the available time frame and pose a chance to do more damage to the scenario than is acceptable. Earlier incarnations could have worked, but they are lost to us."

The two Monumentals joined their brethren in silence after that, contemplating the repercussions of what was about to occur. Their time and guardianship of the plane was nearing its inevitable end, and it was time to pass the torch onto the next generation. Before that, however, they could throw one last ember into the encroaching dark.

"Come. We have a limited amount of time before this opportunity becomes closes to us. We must prepare."

* * *

**Hello everyone**

**Well, it has certainly been a while since I posted anything. Excuses? Absolutely none, I'm afraid. I just haven't been able to focus on writing for a really long time. It wasn't even writer's block- I had plenty of ideas, just didn't put them down. Oh well. **

**This is the beginning of of something I hope will bring satisfaction to all those Souls who played Dark Souls 2 hoping for something new and amazing and got pissed off after realizing that all their efforts were pointless and just part of a idiotic cycle doomed to repeat itself perpetually until the end of time... or at least, as the devolopers would have us believe.  
**

**...**

**Anyway, as I was saying, I had one more point to make, namely the rather clear Demon Souls characters being referenced here and familiar to any Souls veteran who remembers the arduous but well worth it journey that was Demon Souls. Now, I realize this is the Dark Souls Category and this technically belongs in the Demon Souls/Dark Soul crossover. The fact of the matter is that the vast majority of this fic, should I complete its ungodly length, will take place in Dark Souls to the point where it can only be considered a Demon/Dark Souls crossover in a technicality, so I'm just putting it in the Dark Souls category. Besides, I admit (rather selfishly) that it could get more reviews here. **

**Admittedly, this "chapter" is woefully short by my standards, but please stay tuned. In the next few days, I should release another tid-bit, thus creating my first multi-chapter story and hopefully the first of many to come.**

**HiddenMaster out.**


	2. Chapter 1

Dark Souls is owned and produced by From Software.

Demon souls is owned and produced by From Software with assistance from SCE Japan Studio

No permission has been obtained from any of the copyright holders for the use of the characters and situations from these series. This work of fiction is not for profit and not intended to infringe on copyrighted intellectual property in any significant or harmful way.

Should they, or any of their affiliates, request it this non-profit story will be taken off line as quickly as possible.

Any original characters, however, are owned by me and me alone. Should I find out someone has stolen my characters, I will find them and launch them out of a cannon and into the sun. Or beat them to death with a napkin, whichever mood I am in. If you want to use the characters, just ask. I'll probably say yes.

Feedback is encouraged. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and hotdogs.

Let's get on with the story, shall we?

* * *

**Cycles of Destruction**

**Chapter 1  
**

**Or**

**An Univited Guest**

* * *

_I hate sighing._

Quelaan of Izalith, youngest and one of the few surviving daughters of the famed primordial lord the Witch of Izalith, alternatively known as the Fair Lady to the few who served in the ranks of the Chaos Servants, savior of the plague-afflicted denizens of Blightown, and mutated, sickly half woman/half chaos spider, had just sighed. In fact, she had been sighing a lot lately, which just made her want to sigh more. That, of course, would be extremely painful, as the mere act of breathing hurt these days. Then again, ever since she had gotten sick, everything hurt.

On the first night after she had taken the suffering denizens of Blightown's sickness into her own healthy form to spare their suffering, she had been reduced to a tear stained, catatonic wreck by the pain of her entire body rotting from the inside-out and regenerating daily in a never ending war between the disease and her inhumanly resilient immune system and regenerative abilities courtesy of her mutation due to the residual effects of the Chaos Flame. Over the years, as her body somewhat adapted to the disease, she had learned to deal with pain, but it was still hard. Sometimes, on nights where the agonizing open sores in her spider half wouldn't stop oozing a sickly combination of rotting black blood and puss or when she felt the rythmatic beats of her eggs slow and start to go cold with the touch of death, all she wanted to do was break down screaming, but she fought the urge as much as she could because she didn't want to worry anyone. Her sister and the rest of the Chaos Servants did everything they could to help her, providing warmth, food, water, anything she could possibly need in her desolate state, but most often almost nothing offered even temporary relief to her anymore with one exception: humanity. The sprites, she had found whenever Kirk or Quelaag managed to find them, always flooded her entire being with a deep rooted sense of warmth and comfort, easing her pain and even reversing some of the rotting in her spider half, but it never lasted. Sooner or later, the sickness always overcame the humanity given to her, and the disease would strike back with a vengeance. Nonetheless, she always welcomed the sprites, despite their… questionable origins.

Another reason for her sign was quite frankly boredom. Quelaag had left to go out hunting in the Demon Ruins, and her current guard, the Knight of Thorns, Kirk, was highly professional and rarely spoke whenever he was on her guard shift even though her was… somewhat more talkative whenever Quelaag was around. She used to love reading, but her immobile nature made reading materials difficult to acquire and, more importantly, her eyesight had long since been taken by her sickness, rendering her reading skills moot. Her entire world, once a comfortable life as practically royalty in the enlightened city of Izalith, where she could bask the wonders and gathered knowledge of her hard fought home, had been reduced to a single room in Quelaag's lair and her only source of contact with the outside world was via conversations with Quelaag or Kirk, the only two people she knew of still that could speak Izalan, the language of the long deserted city of Izalith.

_I miss Quelana and Quenami. Even in the bleakest of times, they could always make me laugh._

To make matters worse, conversations topics beyond mere survival were in short supply. She knew Kirk and Quelaag down-stated the state of the outside world whenever she asked and tried to make it sound okay, but she wasn't stupid. Through tidbits she had overheard from Kirk and Quelaag's quiet conversation, she had pieced together a rough outline of the current state of Lordran. Human civilization on the outside had mostly collapsed. Anor Londo apparently still silently stood, but no one knew what the inner city was like beyond its impenetrable walls. Hollows ran rampant as the First Flame faded, turning all of Lordran into a massive death trap. The only surviving primordial lord, Grave Lord Nito, had returned to his crypt and never emerged. The Chaos Demons that had bred and spread their filth over the once magnificent city of Izalith were growing in power and number, only held back from overrunning Lordran by Quelaag's routine rampages through their ranks. Finally, even though Quelaag vehemently denied it, she knew her sacrifice for the people of Blightown, taking in the cursed Blightpuss that all but the most powerful of miracles and healing arts had been unable to cure, had been pointless, and the people she'd saved had long since degenerated into incestuous, mutated freaks with no memory of their ancestor's plight and an overpowering thirst for blood.

All in all, it made for a rather depressing situation. Remembering that most of her family was insane, mutated, or dead made it even worse.

The worst part of it, however, was the feeling of uselessness. She, like all of her sisters, was a master pyromancer and fire sorceress. She had stared down swarms of colossal Everlasting Dragons as the world burned down around her. In their nightmare escape from Izalith, she had burned emerging demons to mere ashes just as much if not more so than Quelaag. Despite skepticism from her friends and family, all except Quelaag, she had been one of the first to look into the possibilities of pyromancy outside the simple art of destruction, and had subsequently created the first school of healing pyromancies that Izalith had ever known, an art that had enabled her to continue on and soldier through wounds fatal to anyone else, granting her an unprecedented level of survivability and regeneration in combat and, more importantly in her personal opinion, saving countless lives that otherwise would have been extinguished far too early in their path.

Now, however, she was blind, weak and perpetually near death, dependent upon others to sustain and care for her own life. She hated being a burden to Quelaag and Kirk and everyone helping her cling to life. She hated not being able to help out. She hated not being able to cleanse Izalith of the demonic filth infesting its ruins and rescuing her remaining family. She hated feeling pain every time she breathed. She hated the periodic panic and fear she felt as the sickness ate at her body to the brink of death only to be held back by precious humanity sprites as the disease twisted and rotted her body from the inside out. She hated feeling hatred for these things. Quelaan hated her life.

Despite all of the factors making her life a living hell, Quelaan was thankful for a few things. She was selfishly glad that, if anyone was to make it out of Izalith on the horrible night of its fall, Quelaag had made it. Out of all of her sisters, she was closest to Quelaag. Ever since they were children, they had been inseparable. She was the youngest of the Daughters of Chaos, born during the height of the Eternal War with the Everlasting dragons. Her mother had often been called away to fight in the multi-century long war, and most of her sisters, born decades earlier, were fully grown and almost always away with her mother in the war… all except Quelagg. Quelaag was a teenager at the time, and the responsibility to take care of her infant sister while their mother and older sisters were away fell to her; those formative years, just her and Quelaag, had created an unbreakable bond that had lasted their entire lives. When Quelaan came of age to learn the Fire Arts, Quelaag had taught her more than any of her sisters, even her mother. In the war, they always stood together, side by side, saving each other dozens of times from the stone dragons and their monstrous creations before its end. When Mother lost control of her flame and inadvertently unleashed the demons upon the world, Quelaag had unhesitatingly saved her before any of the others and fled the hell Izalith had become as the raw power of the Chaos Flame twisted the city and its inhabitants into horrifying monsters. When their bodies changed, their lower halves mutated by the residual exposure to the Flame of Chaos into massive horrifying chaos spiders, Quelaag had embraced her tightly, promising that no matter what happened, she would always be there for her.

She was also glad to have met the knight Kirk. Even with her eyes ruined, her other senses functioned relatively well, and she could hear his soft, steady controlled breathing coming from the opposite side of her resting chamber; his usual spot for guard duty. Kirk had been part of a group of Darkwraiths hunting others for their humanity many years ago. When he and his party had come across Quelaag's lair while she was away, they had sensed Quelaan's humanity and had immediately zeroed in on her location like hounds that had scented blood. Her only attendant at the time, Eingyi, had desperately tried to stop them once the illusionary wall was banished, but his poison pyromancies were next to useless against the Darkwraiths, and he was easily struck down, cruelly and viciously by the Knight of Thorns himself, opening the path to Quelaan and the irresistible mountain of collected humanity she held within. However, while a comrade was on the verge of gleefully striking her down in anticipation of the huge haul of humanity she would give, Kirk, on seeing Quelaan in her defenseless, fragile state, her ruined eyes unable to even see her attackers let alone defend against them, came to a simple epiphany that altered the course of his life; namely, that no matter the power offered by the darkness and Darkstalker Kaathe, it simply wasn't worth losing what precious little life and warmth left in his bleak heart that would be obliterated by killing Quelaan and stealing what precious little relief and comfort she had left. In an act of startling compassion, he had back-stabbed two of his fellow Darkwraiths before they could even react, prompting the last to flee just as Quelaag returned. The Darkwraith's screaming hadn't lasted long.

At first, Quelaag had been adamant in killing Kirk once she ensured Quelaan's safety and health, but Quelaan had managed to stay her hand. Something about Kirk had seemed… different. The Darkwraiths, in her limited experience, didn't have an inner flame: they were a black, screaming abyss that devoured all light. Kirk, on the other hand, possessed an inner fire that had stubbornly persisted on even as insatiable darkness bit and tore at it. Somehow, even though he had been submerged in the deepest abyssal darkness during his time in the ranks of the Darkwraiths, he had maintained some level of his humanity. In the end, Quelaag's mercy had not gone wasted. Kirk, when it was clear Quelaag wasn't going to cleave him in half and burn the body to ashes, immediately pledged himself to the Chaos Servants, and had served them faithfully ever since.

Over time, through numerous back-to-back battles against the Chaos Demons and invaders, he had even earned Quelaag's respect and friendship; the only person, let alone a human, to do so in a very, very long time. Quelaan had been shocked when Quelaag had spoken of Kirk with the barest hint of warmth and affection instead of her usual cold contempt. Quelaag had grown to even trust Kirk enough to guard Quelaan while she was away.

Quelaan, for her part, considered him a friend. At first, they hadn't been able to speak with each other on account of different languages, but Quelaag had solved that problem in a surprising show of generosity by gifting him one of the last rings of languages arduously and painfully scavenged from the ruins of Izalith. The first time he spoke to her and she understood, she had cried tears of joy for the first time in years, happy to hear any other understandable voice. Over time, he revealed his history to her, usually in the form of short stories that she hung onto like a lost puppy. His life, she found, had proven to be a fascinating contrast hers on the rare occasions when he spoke of it. She had grown up in the highest tiers of Izalith society while he had grown up in the up in the perpetually murky slums of Carim. He had fought his way out of poverty and left Carim to travel the world for many years before he was drawn to Lordran when the darksign was burned into his flesh. Quelaan loved to hear stories of his travels and adventures across the lands, and she couldn't help but laugh whenever he inevitably ended one of his stories with a dirty joke. Quelaag would occasionally listen in on his stories as well, and, although she tried to hide it beneath a veil of indifference, Quelaan knew Quelaag enjoyed the stories just as much, if not more than herself. Before Izalith's fall, Quelaag had loved traveling to distant lands to face new challenges and explore the foreign cultures and wonders of the unknown.

Quelaan also liked him because of his influence on Quelaag. Ever since their escape from Izalith, Quelaag had become increasingly withdrawn from the world, rarely speaking even to Quelaan. Once, she had been curious and outgoing, if admittedly aggressive, her desire for new sighs and challenges insatiable. After Izalith burned, everything but thoughts of survival faded from Quelaag's mind, and they had never really returned. The void in her heart had been filled with ever increasing bitterness, hatred, aggression, and paranoia towards everyone outside of her single remaining dear sister. Kirk, though, had changed that. She was still withdrawn and irritable, but in his presence, aspects of her old self occasionally rose up to the surface in the form of an occasional smirk, laugh, or playful remark. Had the situation been different, the romantic in her liked to believe Quelaag and Kirk would have been perfect for one another.

Her thoughts suddenly went blank as pain shot through her chest and she erupted into a minute long coughing fit, spitting up blood in the process. Kirk was by her side in an instant, gently patting her humanoid back and gently holding her as she hacked her lungs out. When the fit passed and she could breathe normally again, she didn't need eyes to know kirk had been liberally splattered with crimson droplets, but he didn't seem to mind, staying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, Kirk," she paused and coughed a few more times before continuing, "but, could you please get me some water?" She hated bothering him, but her throat felt raw and bloody, and she could taste the acrid, sickly taste of her own tainted blood. If she didn't get a drink, she'd eventually throw up, which would be filled with even more blood and would hurt even worse and would probably lead to throwing up again in a vicious never ending cycle..

She heard Kirk shift around uncomfortably for a moment before he seemingly came to a decision and answered her in perfect Izalan. "Of course, my lady. Will you be alright for a few moments alone?"

From his tone alone, she knew he didn't want to leave her alone, but had seen what her coughing fits turned to and wanted to help. "I'll be fine, Kirk." She paused for a moment, her throat sore and scratchy, before adding, "Oh, and please, call me Quelaan."

"Of course, my lady." Kirk replied back, the barest hint of playfulness hidden beneath a respectful tone. Quelaan smiled ruefully in his general direction.

_ One of these days, I'm going to get him to call me by name, and then I can get him started on Quelaag._

His footsteps echoed loudly in the chamber but faded rapidly as he went to a hidden well utilized by the Chaos Servants. Izalith didn't have much in the way of drinkable liquids except for the endless rivers of molten rock and the water of Blightown was a poison saturated, parasite ridden death trap that not even boiling and a healthy dose of neutralizers could purify, but the a few natural springs deep beneath the surface taint yet retained their natural purity and was safe to drink.

Eventually, no matter how she strained, she couldn't hear any more movement and was alone once more. She sighed again, but quickly brightened. She may have been blind, but what little pyromancy she could still manage let her see, after a fashion. All natural living beings carried an inner light, so to speak, and if she focused, their inner light could become clear to her. Her brow furrowed in concentration for a moment, her eyes closed, and suddenly the inner flames of everyone in the immediate area around her became crystal clear. Kirk's dark flame was moving quickly away to the north, its pale light smooth and steady. To her delight, she sensed Quelaag at the very edge of her effective range to the north-east at the edge of the Demon Ruins; she'd be home soon. Congregated in the tunnels and just outside of Quelaag's lair were the odd beings she'd heard Quelaag call eggbearers.

She didn't know much about the eggbearers other than that they had taken in some of her eggs to reduce the burden on her failing body, and that; rather suspiciously, Kirk and Quelaag changed the subject every time she asked. What little she did know was that they were members of the Chaos Servants who served her and her sister in various ways, and were apparently very loyal to her for her actions taking in Blightown's sickness. Beyond that, they were a mystery, as she had never been able to even talk to one, and Kirk, possessor of one of the few artifacts remaining that could translate their speech into something she could understand, refused to take off his ring of languages, and construction of more was impossible as the art was lost when Izalith burned. The only thing she knew for certain about them beyond mere suspicions was that their inner flames seemed manic and twisted, as if something was terribly wrong with them. She hoped her fears were wrong and they were alright and, if what little her sister said about them were true, she really wished she could thank them for their help.

Wait a second, that wasn't right. Why couldn't she? All she had to do was go ask Ringmaster Tsulanda at the Temple of Artifice for a ring of languages and then walk over, show them her biggest smile and…

_ No…_

Wait a second, that wasn't right. What was she doing at Gwyn's stupid bell? Where were Quelaag and the rest of her sisters? For that matter, where was her mother? Weren't they just getting ready for the ritual to recreate the First Flame? She jerkily stood up on two solidly bipedal pale human feet in an elaborately decorated, gold inlaid room and…

_This isn't right._

Wait a second, that wasn't right. Where was Quelaag? She had promised to help her learn the Fire Arts today even though mommy said she wasn't old enough…

_What's going on?_

Wait a second, that wasn't right. Brimstone filled her nostrils, and her eyes shot open with undisguised primal terror reflecting off of her gold tinted amber eyes. Why was she sitting here? The demons were right behind them! She had to keep running or they'd catch her and Quelaag just like the Fire Sages and…

_Stop it._

Wait a second, that wasn't right. Why can't mommy be here, Quelaag? She promised me she'd be here for my birthday. I even made her favorite spice cake…

_I said STOP IT!_

Time slammed to a sudden halt as order was restored to the fractured timeline. Nothing moved, not even the flames of the room's single bonfire, its never ending fire frozen in motion.

Quelaan breathed in short rapid breaths, her human half trembling, covered in sweat as adrenaline flooded her ruined body for a fight it couldn't possibly win. One second her senses were shrouded in a veil of liquid shadow, truly blind for the first time in years. She couldn't even sense the familiar flames of everyone she held dear, and nothing was audible except for the rapid beat of her own panicking heart. The next instant, it simply was, and always had been. There were no words that could do it justice. It wasn't the dark touched ember of humanity, the raw fire of her people the Izalan, or the brilliance of Gwyn's ilk. The sheer power behind it was mind boggling and made her feel faint. Her mother's own flame, the brightest and hottest she had ever known, was a pale candle to the sun that it was.

Just glancing at it hurt, and blood started to flow out of her eyes, yet she couldn't look away. It wasn't clear, but she felt as if the more she looked, the more connections, the more possibilities of the blatantly impossible she saw branching off from the miniature sun in front of her, as if this being was connected to the core of creation Her head started pounding and erupted into a steadily expanding exponential pain that radiated from her entire being as she felt a strange pressure pushing down and against her entire body, and she absently wondered if she was going to die as she struggled to pierce the veil of light in front of her.

"Hmm, you stabilized the fracture afflicting this timeframe. Interesting." The voice was not vocal, she realized. It came from insider her own head and was both an insanely loud roar yet barely more than a mere whisper as if heard from a great distance. Blood began to flow more steadily from the tear ducts of her opaque eyes, as well as from her ears, nose, mouth, and several other dozen places on her body.

"Oh, my apologies." The brilliant sun in front of her said, as if just realizing something important that should have been obvious. Suddenly, that which had existed and always will was gone, replaced with a young bald man in ornate gold trimmed white robes. It didn't matter that her dead eyes hadn't functioned in years. She still saw him. "I haven't had to worry about that in a long time. Is that better?"

"Who… who are you?" So many questions flowed through her mind in that one moment, battling with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, but this was the only one of many that she was able to choke out.

"What I am is… unimportant. The only important factor here is _you_." The being's eyes flashed with a bright white glow for a moment before fading away, and he suddenly looked worried, glancing around at something unseen before returning back to her. "My apologies, but time is of the essence. I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive me for placing this burden upon you, but this is the only option remaining to rectify the mistakes of the past."

"Wait, what are you-," Blood suddenly spurted out of her mouth in an explosive spray of crimson. Shocked, she slowly tilted her head to look down and saw through the bangs of her snowy white hair, in the blink of an eye, the being had moved to stand right in front of her, his slender hand now buried up to the wrist in a gory, very new gaping hole in her deathly pale chest that rhythmically spurted crimson blood according to the beat of her heart. Distantly, she found to her sheer horror that she could feel the being's slim fingers grasping her heart in a surprisingly gentle grip. She tried to speak, to scream, to do anything to express the sheer agonizing pain of what had just occurred, but instead she could only sit in shocked morbid silence as her rib-cage was not so much ripped as smashed open to reveal her still beating heart; the being looked her in the eyes and frowned, as if realizing something unpleasant. "Please brace yourself. This is going to hurt. A lot."

The iridescent being lit up with a blinding white aura and suddenly she knew true pain far greater than anything she had experienced in her long life. Every single pain receptor in her entire body was ignited and sent into overdrive as she felt every single last one of her muscles, sinews, tissues, and even her bones ignite in waves of blinding pain as they were forced to shift, rearrange, and, in some cases, literally be violently expelled from her body. In this dire situation, she did the only reasonable thing possible. She screamed, every last ounce of agony in her entire being distilled in an audible, ear-piercingly loud, long, and terrible form for one long moment that lasted a seeming eternity before the darkness blissfully overtook her and welcomed her into the sweet embrace of oblivion.

* * *

**Hey everyone  
**

**Told you I'd get something else uploaded in the next couple of days. This is a bit up to my standards in terms of length, but I think I'm going to try writing shorter chapters, both so that my attention span doesn't start to drift too much in the time it takes to release a massive chapter and so that readers can expect updates before a year has passed. Now, I will admit this is a bit of a fast release rate for a story of mine, especially considering my usual post-ratebut I honestly had this all ready and it just needed a little extra editing.**

**Speaking of which, anyone interesting in Beta Reading, just pm me. I think I edit things well enough and catch my own mistakes, but I will always miss something that a second set of eyes would catch.**

**Anyway, as for the story: introducing one of our main characters. I won't say who the other is. I really like the Fair Lady in Dark Souls, and she's one of the nicest characters in game on every play through I always join the Chaos Servants to give her a massive amount of humanity for no other reason than to ease her pain and I can. I also feel that she seriously deserved something to commemorate her or another chance in a story, as she seriously recieved the worst end of the deal on every front; beloved sister dead,entire family gone or mutated or too scared to just drop by and say "Hi!" (I'm looking at you Quelana), her home and civilization long gone, dying of a disease almost no one remembers, the people she'd saved degenerated... you get the idea.**

**One thing I had to change was the story's rating. I now realize that this story is seriously going to deserve an M rating, mostly because of gore such as what was described in the story but also because of some seriously darker elements I have planned later on. Anyway, I think I'll cut this bloated author's note off here and just say thanks for review this so far, means a lot to me.  
**

**HiddenMaster out**


	3. Intermission One: Sweet Dreams

Dark Souls is owned and produced by From Software.

Demon souls is owned and produced by From Software with assistance from SCE Japan Studio

No permission has been obtained from any of the copyright holders for the use of the characters and situations from these series. This work of fiction is not for profit and not intended to infringe on copyrighted intellectual property in any significant or harmful way.

Should they, or any of their affiliates, request it this non-profit story will be taken off line as quickly as possible.

Any original characters, however, are owned by me and me alone. Should I find out someone has stolen my characters, I will find them and launch them out of a cannon and into the sun. Or beat them to death with a napkin, whichever mood I am in. If you want to use the characters, just ask. I'll probably say yes.

Feedback is encouraged. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and hotdogs

Anyway, let's get on with the story, shall we?

**Cycles of Destruction**

**Intermission One: Sweet Dreams**

**Or**

**WTF**

* * *

Quelaan was dreaming.

She knew she was dreaming because she could actually see the peaceful night-time meadow around her, moon-lit star filled night sky above, and could feel the soft grass between her toes, something she hadn't done in centuries Furthermore, the moon was war too big and picturesque for the world she lived in, and the starry night sky far too beautiful. The meadow itself was full lush, green grasses, dotted with the occasional glowing moonflowers, their six distinctive pointed oval petals shifting with the breeze. Most importantly, her constant, mind numbing companion for the past thousand years was gone, leaving behind the ecstasy of a normal, healthy body that she had long forgotten.

She knew she should be exploring and questioning her surroundings. After all, her people did not naturally dream, as the peculiar humans so often did. Rather, when her people had dreams, they were thought to be gifts of the First Flame, imparted onto life as visions of great meaning while in the realm of sleep. Her people had numerous stories of visions and dreams like this, and almost all proved to have some noticeable impact on life.

Quelaan had never had one herself, but her mother had-two in all her thousands of years of life. The first was given onto her before she awoke outside the Kiln of the First Flame that showed her the key to unlocking the power of a lord soul and subsequently the Fire Arts she was so famous for. The second time, as the power of the Fire Arts grew too unstable, she learned of the power to harness directly the power within, carving the first steps into the art that would later be known to the world as pyromancy.

By all logic and the teachings of her people, the lessons of her family, she should not waste this opportunity. She should diligently explore, question, and analyze everything presented to her for any obscure meaning. First, however…

Quelaan laughed. It was a beautiful, melodic sound that echoed in the meadow. She ran her hands down her hips and legs, luxuriating in the feeling of smooth, warm flesh. She smiled and wiggled her toes in the cool, dew covered lush grass. The cool night air seemed to caress her pale skin, leaving tingling goosebumps that made her shiver

Her thighs tensed and she explosively shot off, sprinting through the thigh-high grass, a joyous, enraptured smile on her face. The grass parted gracefully in her wake, the rushing wind throwing her long, platinum hair back wildly behind her. Patches of iridescent moon flowers shook in her wake, a few of their delicate, petals detaching and drifting into the air like sparkling stars in her wake.

She ran and ran through the never-ending meadow, blood pulsing, her heart racing, yet she never ran short of breath. Despite this and the radiant smile on her face at the simple joy of _movement_ that suffused her heart, tears leaked from her carmine eyes.

She crested over a hill and came to a sudden, jerking stop.

"Mother…" she said softly, seeing a sight she hadn't known in over a thousand years.

This was not the unholy abomination her mother had become, devoid of everything she once held dear. This was the proud, beautiful, strong woman who had harnessed the very power of the flames of creation itself.

She blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her eyes. She had nearly forgotten what her mother had looked like so long ago, before everything went horribly wrong.

Her mother, clad in gold-trimmed dark purple robes, appraised Quelaan, her luscious lips drawn in a thin line, her brilliant eyes unusually cold. Quelaan frowned; normally, her mother would spare a smile for her children. Then again, this was a dream. After a moment, her mother nodded in Quelaan's direction, and smirked.

Her mother turned around. She summoned a small wisp of flame to one finder and drew a vertical line through the air, leaving behind a trail of fire. The line rapidly widened until it reached the proportions of a large doorway. With a brief rumble, the flames flickered out of existence, leaving behind an ornate, stone doorway, its door a layer of impenetrable fog. Her mother looked back at her for a moment and beckoned before she stepped through the fog gate.

Quelaan released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. To see her beautiful mother after so long, it really brought back memories.

Quelaan stepped up to the fog gate and lightly touched it. Unlike normal fog, it actively resisted her touch, requiring force to part.

"So, that's it, then."

It wasn't really a question. The reason, her purpose for the dream, lied beyond the door. This also confirmed a suspicious she'd long had. Her mother was well and truly dead. If a loved one appeared in a dream to offer guidance, then they had truly departed this world to join with the First Flame once more.

She sniffed slightly, but no tears came. This wasn't unexpected. She had held the small, faint hope that her mother might yet be saved, but this was for the best. As much as she wished for her mother back, she found comfort in the thought that her mother had finally found peace after her horrendous ordeal.

Mind made up, she pressed once again upon the fog, firmly parting it. She closed her eyes and shuddered as the fog briefly enveloped her in alien sensations, an echo of a long gone era when everything was eternal and unchanging.

When she opened her eyes once again, Quelaan found herself standing in the center of a massive, desolate ashen plain. The skies were an uniform mass of rolling gray, the landscape rocky and lifeless. In the distance, burn husks of the colossal arch trees smoldered. This was a landscape, a domain unseen for millennia; this was the home of the Everlasting Dragons, who once ruled the skies and numbered in the thousands.

Several things ran through Quelaan's mind in that instant. Fear turned her blood cold, horror made her feel paralyzed, excitement flooded her body with adrenaline, and body trembling rage at the sight of the ancient enemy All of them, however, were utterly overridden by the overpowering instinct to dive for cover.

Her people had learned something long ago that most modern human militaries had forgotten; aerial superiority was absolutely deadly. They, with "they" referring to the combined forces of Gwyn and Izalith and Nito, would not even contemplate going against the dragons without support of Gwyn's lightning/sunlight spear wielding knights or the Giant Hawkeye Gough's dragon slayer archers.

Once she realized she was not on fire and not being bombarded from above, she slowly crawled out of a shallow rocky depression she had dived into and stared in surprise at the circling dragons, numbering in the thousands, who hadn't even noticed her.

"They're not real-just, just a part of a vision." She told herself, repeatedly, trying to push away instincts that told her to either run or light something on fire.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the phantom of her mother beckoning her. She turned to get a better look and immediately froze.

The world had changed.

The skies and landscape were still the same. No, the problem lied in the veritable swarm of dragons polluting the sky. They were gone. Fortunately, she didn't have to wonder where they went, because the now surrounded her on three sides as far as the eye could see. The fourth path was left open, a clear path to her motionless. Of course, it was lined with Everlasting Dragons as well. Of course.

Each and every single one of the dragons was motionless and utterly silent, not even drawing breath like all life naturally does. Worse yet, Quelaan found herself the center of attention as every last one watched her every move.

Quelaan's pupils had long since dilated and flame sparked at her fingertips as she trembled, but after a moment during which she noticed she hadn't been smashed into paste or eviscerated or even set on fire, she took a deep breath and calmed herself.

"They're not real." Quelaan reassured herself, a touch bit frantic.

Hesitantly, she began to make her way down the available path, the only sound the soft rumble of shifting stone as thousands of dragons followed her movement. Quelaan had to gulp as she passed a particularly large dragon taller than even Hawkeye Gough at the shoulder by a magnitude of three.

A sense of desperation took her heart of storm when her mother stepped into the shadows at the base of the Archtree's roots and disappeared. Quelaan quickened her pace until she was in a full on sprint. Behind her, a single dragon roared, but it was soon followed by another and another until all joined in, unleashing a deafening cry of primordial power that made the very earth tremble.

She sprinted as fast as she could until her legs screamed in protest and sweat poured down her body, but the closer she got to the arch tree, the more reality seemed to distort. The Archtree, a smoldering husk of stone-like bark, flickered; one moment it was a living, breathing colossal tree in full bloom, the next moment, it distorted, multiple images of the husk and living tree fragmenting and reforming like a convoluted series of cracked mirrors. Around her, the dragons slowly disintegrated, their resilient stone bodies eroding away to simple dust to be carried away in the wind, yet echoes of their powerful presence and unforgettable roar remained.

The Arch Tree loomed close in front of her, but Quelaan's pounding feet suddenly hit nothing but thin air, and she found herself falling into darkness.

She stumbled as she landed, and almost wanted to use one of Quelaag's favorite curses when she realized the world had once again changed.

Replacing the dragon's dominion was a long dimly lit stone corridor lined with thirteen statues on raised pedestals. Light seemed to emit off the statues themselves, providing most of the dim illumination but in the distance Quelaan could make out another white light.

Nine of the statues appeared identical; a humanoid figure clad in robes, hood up that hid the the face, no distinguishing features available. She walked up to one of them, noting the exquisite detail in the carved marble, and saw a dust covered plaque. She wiped some of the dust away, revealing an inscription beneath. Curious, she found that each of the statues had a corresponding plaque on its pedestal that gave what appeared to be a title.

"The Youthful Prodigy"

"The Cursed Swordsman"

"The Mad Alchemist"

"The Visionary Sage"

"The False Prophet"

"The Veiled Assassin"

"The Forsaken Sorceress"

"The Warped Guardian"

"The Master"

"The Repentant Fool "

The last three statues were… different.

Three of the statues appear to have been carved from a dark stone; maybe obsidian? "May have" because, while it is clear that statues once stood here, they had violently been destroyed and their plaques scratched out, leaving behind only fragments of dark stone.

The last statue was of a kneeling woman carved from solid crystal, perhaps quartz, whose face was unperceivable under her hood. The crystal statue possessed a shocking level of detail that would have even made the notoriously picky sculptors of Anor Londo envious; the "cloth" of the woman seemed to bend and wrinkle just like a real person's robe would do in that position, and Quelaan could even see pores on the statue's "skin". The crystal itself possessed a stunning clarity beyond any that Quelaan had ever seen, and would have been perfect had it not been for a vague, murky dark core that seemed to shift and flex in her presence.

Tha-Thump.

Quelaan tilted her head as she reached the end of the line of statues. It almost sounded like…

Tha-Thump.

Drawn despite herself, Quelaan followed the primal beat known by all life down the hall and the source of light it came from. At first, the only companion to echo her footfalls was that of the alluring heart-beat, but she gradually became aware of a dissonant sound.

Quelaan raised a hand to her chest as she realized the dissonant beat was virtually identical to the other except that it was a second behind.

Tha-thump

…Tha-Thump

Quelaan's breath fogged as she neared the light, causing her to shiver; her people were many things, but used to the cold was not one of them. As she closed, she began to make out details; a weathered iron door covered in frost, bound in crisscrossing thick chains attached to snake-headed stakes on either side of the door. The locking mechanism was clearly broken, a plain blade crudely jammed in and broken off. The sole source of light escaped through a rectangular viewport high up in the door.

The heart-beat, once an almost soothing back-ground noise now resonated in her skull, making it difficult to think, but Quelaan could tell at least one detail; the beats were slowly synchronizing the closer she got to the door.

She took a step just as a wave of light erupted from the door and passed through her. The wave resonated within her, and a barrage of emotions and imaged assailed Quelaan's heart and mind.

_Sorrow, bitter tears-Where's Mommy? Why do they hate me why do they hate me-Why Why __**WHY!**_

Quelaan rubbed her pounding head, processing the experience, but she had to continue; there was no question. She took another step, and was enveloped in another wave of resonating light.

_Trembling rage, spilled blood-what did I do? Please Tell me. No Please no please no please no No No No don't do this!_

Quelaan's nose began to bleed, but she pressed forward.

_Hope and warmth, an offered hand- Will it hurt? Will it be nice? Will I have friends?_

It felt like pushing against a gale force wind now and the cold bit at her exposed flesh, but Quelaan pressed on. By this point, something had grabbed a hold of her and drove her to keep going. She had know, she had to see.

_Happiness, friendship-dancing, playing, singing- I don't want this to end._

Quelaan's head felt like it was going to burst with the deafening synchronized heart beats and flood of foreign memory, but she couldn't, wouldn't give up. Another step.

_Entropy, Confusion, rage, despair- A hidden door and a forgotten note-It was all a lie. A lie. A lie. A LIE!_

Quelaan's vision narrowed until only the lit viewport remained. Her body felt unnaturally heavy, and her breath now came in rapid gasps. Blood seeped from her nose and dripped freely to the ground. She took a deep breath, and made the final push forward.

_Isolation, loneliness, clarity-A sharpened blade at pale wrists- What's the point of living without friends? Ha ha, joke's on me._

Quelaan touched the door, and all went silent. The weight lifted from her chest, letting her such in gulps of glorious cool air. She wiped some of the blood trailing down her face away, absently willing a tiny spark of flame into existence that soothed the faint pain until the damage was repaired entirely. She stood on the tip of her toes to get a better look, and peeked through the viewport.

She saw an endless expanse of white snow stretching and glittering to the twilight lit horizon. Wind rushed through the landscape, picking up snow and setting off little snow flurries that danced across the plain for a short time before collapsing.

Standing in the middle of the expanse was a tall woman in a white, fur dress looking into the setting sun, her back to Quelaan. Her snow white hair, so similar to Quelaan's own, flowed gently in the breeze. As Quelaan watched and tried to get a better look, she stiffened momentarily before she tried to turn around.

Flame ignited at Quelaan's fingertips as her vision of the endless field of snow and mystery woman was enveloped in shadow. Quelaan jumped back several feet just as two red eyes opened in the shadow and fixated on her.

Quelaan shielded her face as the door exploded open. A single, massive, malformed-palm like first touched down in front of the shattered door and wall, followed by a huge, dark hunched over, and hairless ape-like body. Its head possessed a somewhat normal lower jaw and gaping mouth. Its upper head branched off in two directions in a series of curved horn connected by bark like bone dotted with red eyes. Its right arm was noticeably smaller than grotesque left, and held a large, gray, branch like staff.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead and she stared the monster down. Its presence made her skin crawl in revulsion, and she wanted nothing more than hide and panic. This creature inspired more than just fear in her heart; deep down, she knew it was wrong, and she could sense that it was the antithesis to everything she held dear.

Had her family been there, they could have used the same tactics they had once used to fight downed dragons. Quelaag and her eldest sister Quesaan- the two most physically adept Daughters of Chaos and practiced Weapon masters-would close in and distract the beast while Quelaan and the rest of her sisters provided ranged fire support as the circled the fallen dragon. This was all to hold off and keep the beast busy while her mother weaved together the power necessary for one great spell.

At her mother's signal, Quelaag and Quesaan would retreat from the target area and join their sisters as they worked together to channel their mother's almost uncontrollable flame into one concentrated, explosive strike.

Quelaan, however, was alone. She wasn't her mother, whose raw power let her challenge Everlasting Dragons by herself, or Quelaag, who would fight the creature just for the thrill and because she could. Quelaan had excellent control over her flame, but she lacked the raw power and ferocity and simple drive to challenge such a beast head on. Her talents lied more in healing and, without her family, lacked the power to fuel techniques that would incenerate such a beast.

As such, she did the next best thing.

A rapidly formed and subsequently thrown chaos fireball exploded in the creature's face, but Quelaan was already running, a roar of rage echoing behind her.

The world had, one again, changed because of course it would. Instead of a near pitch black corridor lined with lit up statues, now it was more akin to the drained lava tubes her people occasionally used in their underground construction. The lava tube branched off ahead in three directions.

Already, the monster had recovered and charged after her. Its thundering footsteps echoed far too close for comfort behind her, more like a force of nature bearing down on her than a mere "monster".

Quelaan leaped to the right and rolled back to her feet in one smooth motion, her sprint barely interrupted as a massive, malformed fist slammed into the lava tube's smooth floor with a mighty roar, cratering it where she had been moments before and allowing molten rock to seep through the cracks.

Quelaan was a fairly fast woman; however, she wasn't nearly fast or fit enough to outrun the beast for long. Her legs, despite the relatively short distance she'd run, were already burning from going all out. On a whim, she took the right tunnel for escape and promptly ran into a dead end.

She had two seconds. Not nearly enough time to run back into another tunnel, but just enough time for another possibility.

She brought her hands together and rapidly channeled the energy of her inner flame into her family's signature technique, modified with just a touch of the Flame of Chaos that had warped her form so long ago. However, even as flames took form and stone heated and melted as the monster changed around the corner only to be beset by pillars of chaos fire that burnt and scorched dark flesh, she knew it wasn't enough. The flames were barely half the strength they would have been had Quelaag or any of her family been there.

Pyromancy's strength is determined by not only the will and intensity of one's inner flame; it also draws from connections, relationships, love. She had never truly been alone, for at least some of her family, her dear sister, was always there to reinforce her.

Chills went down her spine, completely unrelated to the nearby giant monster and its roars of pain, as she realized she was truly alone. Even Quelaag's comforting presence was gone.

Quelaan rolled to the side as the dark monster broke free of the flame and slammed its swollen fist down where she had been. Quelaan belatedly realized her earlier actions had little effect on the beast, and her attacker was now on _fire._ She ducked under the horizontal swing of its staff, and leaped forward between the creature's oddly bent legs as it jumped for an overhead, earth shattering blow.

Quelaan bolted for the opposite tunnel, but tripped before she could get half way across. Wait, the tube's walls were smooth. She wasn't a klutz like Quenami-what could she possibly have tripped on?

She looked down at her ankle to see a tendril of manifested darkness wrapped around it. The tendril itself emerged from a pool of darkness around the monster's legs, its massive, grotesque arm outstretched towards her.

She barely had time to shriek before she was pulled, hard, through the air, right into the creature's outstretched hand. Spittle flew through the air as the air was violently expelled from her lungs, and something in her chest cracked. The monster reared, and slammed her into the opposite obsidian wall, cratering it and embedding her in the wall.

She had shrieked before. Now, she screamed as bone shattered, blood splattered from her open mouth, and organs ruptured. The screams intensified into a horrible wail as magma seeped through the cracks and burn through her smooth, pale flesh.

Most peoples' mind would have shut down under such pain. Unfortunately, she was not one of those people, accustomed as she was used to intense and constant pain for centuries. Thus, she got to continue screaming and writhing as the creature leaned down until its grotesque face was right in front of her, its palpable dark aura making her skin crawl even in her pained state.

Quelaag would have spat on the monster's face. Then she would have set herself on fire as a last insult, whether it would have helped or not. Quelaan, however, was too busy screaming to try, but Quelaag would have been proud at the black blood drawn as she bit down into the creature's grotesque hand, albeit to no effect.

"Get away from her!"

The dark monster disappeared. To be more precise, the monster was enveloped in a massive pillar of white hot fire that incinerated all but the arm holding her up.

Quelaan fell to the ground as the arm dissolve into black ash. She proceeded to metaphorically and somewhat literally cough her lungs out.

Her entire body heaved as blood and bits of tissue splattered the smooth stone of the lava tube's floor, some blood splattering into the silky long platinum strands of her hair hanging in a curtain around her face.

A hand touched her back, radiating precious, life giving warmth that slowly saturated her entire body. Wherever the warmth touched as it snaked throughout her body, bone mended and flesh knit back together. Pain rapidly lessening, she looked up.

"Mother…" she softly spoke as her beautiful, beautiful mother softly smiled at her.

Absently, she had to wonder how her mother had managed to heal her; the warmth had been almost identical to her healing flame, but, to her knowledge, she was the only healer capable of rapid regeneration of this level of fine control and quality. Furthermore, it was her mother. She still vividly remembered the results of the one time her mother had tried her hand at the Healing arts.

_Quelaan wiped the soot from her eyes as her ears rang. Nearby, Quelaag and Quelana, along with her apprentices, did the same. The student training infirmary, complete with training animals able to enjoy the benefits of her healing arts just like people, was gone. Left behind where it had once stood was a crater, her mother pouting and arms crossed as she looked around at the unprecedented level of destruction in her attempt at mending a small scratch._

Her mother was a greatly talented, brilliant woman and leader, but the fine-control necessary for Quelaana's school of Healing Arts was far from one of her strengths.

Mostly, however, she desperately embraced her mother and buried her face in her bosom, crying tears of joy, wonderfully taking in her mother's natural radiating warmth, her powerful aura, and even her spicy scent. This, she felt with finality, was the last time she would ever see her _mommy_.

Her mother's slender arms circled around Quelaan's back and crushed the two of them together in a loving embrace. Her mom's shoulders shook as she cried silently alongside Quelaan.

Quelaan desperately wished the moment could last forever.

Then her mother's hands started going lower.

"Mo-Mother?"

Quelaan's brain froze as her mother roughly groped her (admittedly) fine ass. Ten seconds later, she had only succeeded in opening her mouth, to say what, she didn't know. Quelaan's brain finally began to thaw ten seconds later. It immediately refroze when two immaculate, and silky smooth hands grabbed her face and a tongue was shoved down her throat.

If her mind had froze over before, it completely shut down now. Confusion, disgust, and horror all rushed around in one big maelstrom of thought and emotion in her mind that left her paralyzed

For a solid thirty seconds, she did not move. For a solid thirty seconds, she was violated by her own mother, a mere plaything to her wandering, groping hands and aggressive tongue. It was not because she didn't want to move or do something; in fact, she would have loved to move. She simply, physically, could not. At the conclusion of those thirty seconds, her inner fire roared.

Quelaan shoved her mother with all her might, dislodging their luscious lips but unexpectedly drawing herself forward as well. She looked down in confusion and subsequent horror to see thorny vines perforating her mother's once flawless skin, and reaching out to burrow into Quelaan's own flesh wherever her mother's hands still molested, binding them together.

Panicked, carmine eyes wide and dilated, her body flooded with strength as she desperately shook and tried to break free of her mother's grasp, ripping the vines out even if it meant losing chunks of bloody flesh or greater torrents of blood that accompanied the vines to the floor.

Her efforts abruptly ended as two enormously strong hands gripped her throat and slammed her into a wall. She struggled, grasping at her mother's ripped and flayed hands that bulged with burrowing vines, but it was a feeble attempt; her air supply was cut off, opponent too strong, and windpipe crushed.

Her mother's face loomed before her now, eyes madly aglow with orange fire even as thorns erupted from her tear ducts and stabbed at her glowing orbs, her beautiful face distorted with glowing cracks and raised ridges of burrowing vines, bloody holes perforating her skin where the sharp thorns broke her once flawless, silky skin. Her smile, once so reassuring, nearly split her face in half in her glee at Quelaan's persistent but rapidly weakening struggles. Quelaan's vision itself was fading as her will to fight began to burn out.

When her mother spoke, it sounded like her mother; it also sounded like Quelaag, her other sisters, Ringmaster Tsulanda, the fire sages, and even the screaming servant boy who once had a crush on her as his lower body was devoured by a chaos demon.

"**Why resist **_**my dear baby daughter/beloved sister/dear princess/fire master/my love."**_She-it-they spoke, each of the names spoken simultaneously, voiced merging into one whole as her mother's eyes glowed brighter than before. She came closer until their noses nearly touched, vines branching from her mother's face to pierce flesh and burrow into Quelaan's own, bringing them closer and closer until their lips nearly touched.

'_**You belong with us**_**."**

* * *

**Hi everyone, HiddenMaster here.**

**Well, that's Intermission One. Yeah, Yeah, I know barely have enough for a short Chapter Two, nevertheless an intermission. I just don't see where else this could fit, as, technically, I don't get much actually accomplished, plot wise, in this chapter.**

**Anyway, WHOO! I managed get out another chapter before a year had passed. Barely. Eventually, I want to have monthly or even weekly updates (laughs). Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it too.**

**So, an obvious dream sequence of obvious foreshadowing.**

…

**Yeah, not commenting on that.**

**As always, please review. Any feedback is welcome, and even flames have a use.**

**HiddenMaster out**


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